Lost Memories
by Dibs
Summary: Duo has an accident (sort of) and the other pilots have to deal with him. Chapter four is up! Yeah!
1. Part One

Lost Memories  
By: Dibs  
  
I do not own Gundam Wing! If I did, well, I'd be incredibly rich and would use that money to buy a better computer. Or I'd just move to Hawaii and hire my own secretary-type-person and wouldn't bother with computers at all. Either way, it's not mine and I have no money. Enjoy your reading!  
  
Note: Apparently, italics do not work on ffn.net, so all thoughts will now be like this: //blah,// he thought  
  
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Duo growled in anger. Deathscythe was getting continually hit with missiles. He saw Heero in Wing, taking on damage as well, but not as much as he was. //Guess they find me scarier,// he thought with a grin, //Now that's a first.// He laughed out loud. Can't let them find out they were wrong. His fingers flew across the control panel, executing moves practiced a thousand times in the simulator. More and more suits exploded. Duo was busy cutting one in half when something heavy smashed into the head of his Gundam. Warning lights started flashing all around the cockpit.  
  
"Shit," Duo muttered, and with feeling. He typed in codes and passwords, trying to make the alarms stop.  
  
"Attention, pilot, the vehicle is currently losing power," said a mechanical female voice, "Please land immediately and recharge."  
  
"Yes, I know it's losing power!" Duo snapped as the voice repeated the message. He reached up and randomly tore out a handful of wires. The voice stopped in the middle of the third message.  
  
"Much better," he sighed. The heavy thing that started all the alarms slammed into him again. He was thrown forward in the seat, only the heavy straps around his chest keeping him from slamming headfirst into the control panel.  
  
"Gotta love them seat belts," Duo muttered, his nose inches away from the keyboard. He sat back up in time to register from his broken screens that the Gundam was flat on its face before the thing slammed into him again. The control panel groaned and started spitting out sparks angrily. Duo felt Deathscythe being flipped over before he was thrown back into the seat. He reached up to the control panel, trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do.  
  
The metal around him groaned and something snapped with an almost painful sound around the cockpit door. His eyes widened in panic as the door started to come off. A thin line of sunshine shone through. If the door came off, he was done for. The thing out there, whatever it was, could shoot right in, or grab him. He couldn't jump out. If anything, it would be more dangerous. The metal of the cockpit groaned again, and a piece of metal flew just past his head to embed itself in the strap over his left shoulder. The strap ripped with a loud sound. Duo's mind started racing. He finally reached up to his radio and twisted the knob to Heero's frequency.  
  
"Pilot 01, come in," he said, "01, come in. I'm in deep shit. I don't know if I can make it back. Over." Heero didn't answer. The display screens around Duo suddenly went blank, and he was plunged into darkness before red warning lights came on. His fingers were still on the radio when it decided to spit sparks out. He cursed and yanked back his hand, sucking on a few fingers.  
  
The door of the cockpit was ripped open with a horrible screeching sound of metal breaking, and sunlight flooded in, blinding the pilot inside. There was a mobile suit outside, staring down at him. It reached in and pulled out the entire seat. Duo clung to it for dear life. He looked around wildly, trying to find Wing Zero. It was still battling with five or six other suits, and looked to be pretty damaged. Maybe that was why Heero hadn't responded to the distress call. Duo jerked his head back around as the mobile suit holding his chair shook it from side to side. He was starting to get sick when the suit finally stopped, and clung to the chair, breathing hard and trying to convince his stomach that he still wanted his lunch. The suit seemed to be looking at him for a moment, assessing him.  
  
//Just shoot me now, dammit,// Duo thought, still too nauseous to try and open his mouth. The suit shook him one more time for good measure, and then he was flying through the air. The suit had thrown the entire seat away from him, toward a grove of trees. Duo tried to curl into a small ball, gaining as much protection from the seat as he possibly could. When the seat had been thrown, it had turned around, so at least he was a little more protected. He tried to distribute his weight as evenly as possible, to keep the chair even.  
  
The chair slammed into the ground, the impact making Duo's teeth rattle. It bounced up and landed again, on its side. Duo's entire left side hit the ground, scraping his arm. His head hit next, just above the temple. Distantly, he knew he was still moving, knew his life was still in danger, but he didn't care anymore. Black and gray spots swam across his vision. He blinked, and bright spots flashed before his eyes, red, blue, and yellow, before his world went black and he fell into unconsciousness.  
  
THE END 


	2. Part Two

Lost Memories: Part Two  
By: Dibs  
  
Hiya everybody. Now, seeing as this is the second part, do I really need to go through the torture of disclaimer? We all know that I do not own the guys, right? There. I've said it! (Runs away sobbing.)  
  
By the way, I'm sorry the title is SO clichéd. I didn't realize how many stories were called this until I did a search. Sigh. I am so bad at titles. If anyone has a suggestion, I'd be happy to listen. I might even use it! Has to be better than mine.anyway, enjoy you're reading!  
  
As in the previous part, thoughts are like this: //blah,// he thought. If anyone knows how to make italics work, please, PLEASE tell me! Thank you!  
  
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His head was pounding. Not just pounding, it felt like Mt. Vesuvius was erupting in the middle of his skull. He rubbed a hand across his face, his tongue darting out to lick at dry, cracked lips.  
  
"Where am I?" he whispered, his voice hoarse. Come to think of it, WHO was he? He wracked his mind, finally covering his ears with his hands as the pain in his head worsened. He fell back on the bed, pulling the sheet up to his chin, even though the air around him was hot and humid. Sweat made his skin sticky, and he shifted, feeling something lumpy along his back. He reached underneath him and pulled out a loose, frizzy chestnut braid. He gave a light tug and felt it all the way up to his scalp. He pushed sweat-soaked bangs out of his eyes, looking around the room. He was on a small, cot-like twin bed, the top sheet twisted around his hips, revealing black silk boxers. The bed was in the center of a small, bare room. The walls were a creamy off-white, and the floor was made of worn, dark wooden boards. There was a small window to his left, lacy white curtains still. Carefully, he got up and looked out the open window. The air outside was thick enough to choke on. The house was on a quiet street, well-tended lawns in front of modest houses. Where the hell was he? He heard the door creak and whirled around to see a small blonde boy enter the room. He was in a white T-shirt and khaki shorts, barefoot. His skin was pale, his bright blonde hair falling in his blue-green eyes. He smiled when he saw the boy standing at the window.  
  
"Duo," he said, obviously relieved, "You're awake. Good."  
  
//Duo?// the braided boy thought. He frowned. Why didn't he recognize that name? Why didn't he recognize this boy? He was obviously on good terms with him, for the boy to worry. The blonde frowned.  
  
"Duo, are you okay?" he asked.  
  
"I don't know," said the braided boy uncertainly. He was bruised, yes, and his head was pounding, and he could use a drink, but other than that, he had no idea. A confused, almost frightened look started to come over the blonde's face.  
  
"Duo, do you remember what happed?" asked Quatre, feeling panic start to tighten his chest.  
  
"I...don't know," said the braided boy. He tried to think back, to anything at all, but pain flared through his head. He clutched his head until the pain started to recede.  
  
"I have to get out of here," he said suddenly.  
  
"What?" Quatre said, "What do you mean?"  
  
"Look, I dunno who you are, I don't even know who the hell I am, but I am leaving," said the braided boy. He advanced on the blonde slowly.  
  
Quatre glanced behind him worriedly at the empty hallway. Duo had better hand-to-hand skills; there was no way he could keep the boy from leaving. He grunted as Duo's weight hit him square in the chest. His back hit the wall and his head followed. He stared at Duo through gray-spotted vision, struggling to keep conscious.  
  
"I'm sorry about this," said the braided boy. He hadn't known he would throw the boy across the hall. He looked down at his hands. They were scarred and calloused. He frowned. What did he do for a living? He looked down and saw the blonde struggling to his feet. He looked around wildly and took off running down the hall.  
  
Quatre watched dazedly as Duo ran down the hall. He stood up on shaky legs, using the wall for support. What on earth was wrong with Duo? He'd shown absolutely no sign of recognition. Amnesia? He shook his head to try and clear it, and took off as fast as he could down the hall after Duo.  
  
The braided boy stopped as he saw stairs leading downwards to an entryway. He slid down the rail and slammed open the front door, running out along the front path. He sucked the muggy air into his lungs, his feet pounding the hot pavement. When the braided boy had run at least a block and a half, and hadn't heard any sounds of pursuit, he stopped. Gasping for air, he looked around.  
  
Even through the haze in his mind, he realized that he was half-naked, disheveled, sweaty, and penniless. He froze as he heard water running. Following the sound, he carefully made his way past large, quiet houses until he came upon a stream. The stream wasn't huge, but it was good- sized, and shaded by large, leafy green trees. The boy approached carefully, looking around. He saw signs of other small creatures, and found that the water was cool and clear. He drank his fill and sat back on the shaded bank, carefully undoing the tie at the end of his braid. He brushed his hair as best he could with his fingers, and redid the braid as neat as possible. Wading into the stream, he shivered happily as the cool water crept up his thighs, and he splashed some up into his face. That blonde boy-who was he?-had seemed to know the house. He must own it. The braided boy decided to go back in a few hours, to see if he had any belongings. He looked out at the street, and saw heat waves rising off the pavement. He made a face and decided to wait until dark, when it would be cooler and easier to get around. He sank down into the cool water, and winced at a stinging sensation along his left forearm and just above his left temple. The braided boy carefully undid the now water-soaked bandages to find long, bloody scrapes along his forearm. He stared at them doubtfully, wondering how on earth he had gotten such an injury. Remembering the stinging at his temple, he reached up and found more bandages.  
  
"Um, okay," he said out loud. He decided to leave both bandages on, not knowing how much damage had been caused. He continued swimming, trying to ignore the stinging in his arm and temple. After about twenty minutes he hauled himself up onto a large, partly shaded flat rock and waited to dry off. In the warm sun he struggled to keep his eyes open, and yawned. The golden light filtered down through the leaves, creating a dappled pattern over his skin.  
  
To Be Continued!!!!!!  
  
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Yes! I am typing part three as we speak! Er, read, whatever. I hope nobody was too confused. Hope you all liked it and hope you will all stick with me on this! School is starting in two short weeks, and I am so regretting not getting on ff.n months ago. Anyway, stick around for part three! Yeah! 


	3. Part Three

Lost Memories: Part Three  
By: Dibs  
  
I don't own Gundam Wing! Never have, never will. Unless, of course, I suddenly become insanely rich. Then I just might buy the G-boys from their owners. And Treize and Zechs.  
  
Anyway, thoughts are still like this: //blah,// he thought. So, enjoy your reading!  
  
Okay, nothing really happens in this part, just Quatre and Heero talking. I don't think there's even a cuss word, so it's probably PG for what they're talking about. But I've never been good with ratings, so just read.  
  
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When the braided boy opened his eyes again, dusk had settled over the neighborhood. He could see streetlamps starting to flicker on and knew he wouldn't get a much better time. Carefully watching the houses around him, he walked back the way he had come that afternoon.  
  
The house of the blonde boy was pale blue with white trim, with a dying yard and a large maple tree. A tall plain wooden fence could be seen on either side, padlocks keeping the gates closed. The braided boy crept along as quietly as possible, managing to scramble over the fence. There was a large balcony deck on the back of the house and stairs with peeling blue paint led up to it. Instinctively crouching low, the boy almost crawled up the stairs. It was dark inside. There was a large, empty area on the other side of the glass door, and it was dark. Where was the blonde boy?  
  
The braided boy tested the glass door, and it slid open with almost no noise. Clinging to the shadows, he slunk along the walls into a large, bare kitchen, where a refrigerator was humming softly. There was an empty doorway at the end of the kitchen, and he peered through it. To the right was what looked like a living room, with a small white couch, a fireplace, and two end tables. Other than that, though, it hardly looked like anyone lived here. To the left was a dark hallway.  
  
The boy slid around the frame, hugging the wall as close as possible. The house creaked slightly under his feet and he froze, forcing himself to slowly count out two minutes, holding his breath. The house was silent. Satisfied that he hadn't been heard, he continued creeping down the hall. He passed a small, empty bathroom. There weren't any personal touches, nothing but a toothbrush, toothpaste, and some toilet paper. He shook his head. What kind of person lived with almost nothing? There were no pictures, no bookshelves, nothing but the barest essentials, if even that. He shrugged and hoped that he hadn't lived here; sure that he would have at least added a homey touch or two.  
  
At the end of the hallway were two more doors. The one on the right was wide open and dark, while the one on the left was slightly ajar and had soft light pouring from it. He could hear voices now, a low murmur. He dropped into a crouch and peered through the door. A large dresser that would probably hit him at his waist was against the wall he faced, and a large mirror attached to it took up the space between it and the ceiling. Reflected in the mirror he could see the blond boy's back over the expanse of a large bed. It was neatly made with light blue sheets. There was a desk situated against the far wall where he was sitting. He shifted in his seat, and the braided boy could see what he was talking to. There was a good-sized screen on the desk in front of him, with a small camera attached to the top. On the screen was the face of another boy. He had unruly chocolate hair and Prussian blue eyes and golden skin. The braided boy stared at the reflection of the screen, instinctively drawing deeper into the shadows and wondering if the dark-haired boy could see out of the screen. He was, well, beautiful, but it was the kind of beauty that would suit a portrait. He didn't seem the type to laugh, or even smile. The braided boy shivered. Those eyes seemed to burn with blue fire, and he knew he never wanted to be on the receiving end of the glare they were now directing at the blond boy.  
  
"What do you mean he's gone?" asked the dark-haired boy. His voice was deep and pleasant, if a bit nasal sounding. The blonde boy sighed.  
  
"Just what I said, Heero," he said, "He woke up, told me he didn't know who the hell I was, or who he was, slammed me into a wall, damn near knocked me unconscious, and ran like hell out the door. I lost sight of him after about a block."  
  
The braided boy listened carefully. They were talking about him? Heero. He grinned to himself. Who named their kid something like that? Was he supposed to be Superman or something? He shook his head as he realized the dark-haired boy- Heero -was talking.  
  
"Quatre, he's a liability now," said Heero.  
  
//Quatre?// thought the braided boy. These people sure had some inventive parents.  
  
"If he really does have amnesia, someone could find him and use him," said Heero, "They could get vital information out of him."  
  
"How could they get vital information if he doesn't remember it?" asked Quatre, rubbing a hand across his face.  
  
"It could surface somehow," said Heero, "There are also a number of developed chemicals sold on the black market that force an individual to respond truthfully to any question asked. Of course, their mind is useless afterwards. The chemicals destroy the tissues that hold the information. Anyone who's had those injections is just a drooling idiot afterwards."  
  
The braided boy shivered at the tone in Heero's voice. Why had he woken up here? Where was he supposed to be? What did these people, these colorless, emotionless people, have to do with him? Heero's tone was so...matter-of-fact, as if he didn't give a damn one way or the other.  
  
"We have to find Duo," said Quatre, who looked too tired to be bothered by the knowledge of these chemicals.  
  
"We will replace him," said Heero, "He is a liability. We'll find him and bring him back. If he won't come quietly, we'll kill him." Quatre stared at the screen, his eyes heavy-lidded. He sighed again.  
  
The braided boy was staring in shock at the reflection of the screen in the mirror. Heero's face was still as stone, his eyes like chips of blue ice. Jesus Christ. Who the hell were these people?! For the second time that day he felt the need to run away from this house. He turned and practically scuttled down the hall into the darkness. He cursed as the house creaked again. It was louder this time, and he heard Quatre's voice say, "What was that?" Heero's voice was a low murmur, and the braided boy couldn't make out the words.  
  
He heard Quatre's chair creak as the blonde boy got up and cursed again. He managed to dart into the kitchen, sliding on his back on the slick linoleum. He watched light blossom in the hall as the bedroom door was opened.  
  
//Hide or run?// the braided boy thought desperately. He opened a cupboard on the floor of the kitchen. It was empty. And huge. Throwing a quick glance behind him, he crawled inside, folding his thin frame into a ball. The door thumped shut and he listened carefully, trying to hear something over the beating of his heart. He tried to slow down his breathing. These people weren't normal. He had no idea what they were capable of. He pillowed his arms on his knees, settling his forehead against them. He closed his eyes, listening with all his might.  
  
Quatre stood in the doorway to the kitchen, listening carefully. Whatever it was, it was gone. It was probably just the house settling. He turned back into the hall, casting one last glance into the kitchen over his shoulder.  
  
"What was it?" asked Heero as Quatre sat back down. The blonde shook his head.  
  
"Nothing," he said, "There was nothing out there." Heero frowned but remained silent.  
  
"We're going to find him, Quatre," he said. Anyone else, and Quatre could have sworn Heero was trying to be comforting. But he had said it, minutes ago, that if Duo resisted, if he couldn't be healed, they were going to kill him.  
  
"I told the police he was my cousin, and that he had run away," said Quatre, "I told them he was dropout, a druggie, that he didn't have any other family. I told them he was supposed to be staying with my father and I, but he was an idiot and refused our hospitality. They told me most runaways usually turn up within a week, but I'm not confident. Even if he isn't in his right mind, Duo's got good instincts, and I think he'll follow them, even if he doesn't understand them." A small half-smile was forming on his lips.  
  
"And just what might those instincts be, Quatre?" Heero asked. The half-smile vanished.  
  
"To run," said the blonde boy with a sigh, "He's gonna run as far and as fast as he can, until we either find him or he remembers his friends."  
  
"Find him, Quatre," said Heero, "Call me only if you find something. Until then, do not tie up the line. Goodbye."  
  
"Goodbye," said Quatre, but the other boy had already hung up. He frowned at the now blank screen, then sighed again and folded his arms across the desk, pillowing his head on them. Just as he started to fall into a restless doze, he thought, //Oh, Duo, where are you?//  
  
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I am working on part four, but I've been getting ready for school, and this story has now stopped inside my head, so I don't know how long it'll be till I update. Be patient, please! 


	4. Part Four

Lost Memories: Part Four  
  
By: Dibs  
  
  
  
Yeah! Part four! I'm so proud of myself! So, as usual, I still don't own Gundam Wing, but you know how it works, right? The minute I forget to say some idiot will come along and sue my butt off. So, I'll just keep saying it...Sigh...  
  
Thoughts are still like this: //Blah,// he thought. I still can't figure out how to do italics! Grrr... I just got tired of messing with it, and decided to just let it go.  
  
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The house had been silent for at least two minutes, and the braided boy carefully crawled out of the cupboard. His eyes roamed over the empty kitchen. The light had once again dimmed in the hall, and he sat for a minute, debating on going back to the bedroom or just getting the hell out of this house. In the end, curiosity won out and he was once again slinking down the hall. He peered through the door, and this time the bedroom was silent, small snores coming from the blonde boy as he slept, head down on his arms.   
  
The braided boy crawled through the door, watching Quatre's shoulders rise slightly with every breath and fall back down. Keeping close to the bed, he pulled out one of the bottom drawers on the chest. It was empty. He tried the next one over. It was empty, too. He tried the next one.   
  
Out of twenty or so drawers, only the top five were being used. One held a few T-shirts, some pinkish button-up shirts, and one green turtleneck. He frowned at it. Why did that one shirt look so familiar? He shook his head. Another drawer held a few khaki pants and some jeans. He pulled out a pair at random, pulling them on over his boxers. They were a little tight, and just a tad too short, but they would do. He went back to the shirt drawer and pulled out a white T-shirt. It seemed the largest shirt the blonde owned. A large black hoody with a front pocket caught his eye. He grabbed it and tied the arms around his waist.  
  
He found socks in another drawer and a pair of tennis shoes in the corner. He rummaged around in the sock drawer again, frowning when his hands encountered something...feathery. He wrapped his fingers around the item and pulled out a pair of handcuffs covered in hot-pink feathers. He stared at them, wondering what the hell anyone would use fluffy pink handcuffs for. He shook his head, deciding that this wasn't helping. He put the handcuffs back and crept slowly from the room.  
  
No sooner had the braided boy shut the sliding glass door than he realized he was hungry. He hadn't eaten anything since he woke up and who knew how long before that. He crept down the stairs and out of the yard. Standing out in the middle of the street, he turned a full circle. There was an orangey glow to the North, and he set off for what he hoped was a town.  
  
"A restaurant, a gas station, anything," the boy muttered. He'd been walking for an hour, and still all he passed were houses that looked strikingly similar to the blonde boy's. The sky above him had turned a dark, dusky purple. A few stars were able to shine feebly, but most were lost to the orange glow still shining in the North. He shook his head and trudged onward.  
  
Twenty minutes later, he became aware of the smell of gasoline. He turned the corner and was faced with the insanely bright glow of an all-night gas station. He untied the hoody from around his waist and pulled it on over his head, fixing his braid beneath the heavy cloth. It was still too hot for a sweatshirt, but the place was pretty busy, and hopefully nobody would notice a skinny kid in a sweatshirt.   
  
The door "binged" shrilly and he winced, but nobody even turned around to see the new arrival. He walked carefully to the soda aisle, pulling out a liter Coke from the large refrigerator. When he was behind the candy aisle, he shoved the Coke under his shirt, jumping at the coldness. He'd already grown accustomed to the cool air-conditioning. He grabbed a few candy bars and shoved them into the front pocket, then carefully slipped a bag of beef jerky under his shirt along with the Coke. He shoved his hands into the pocket, gripping the candy bars and holding the Coke and beef jerky up.  
  
There were no cries of "Stop! Thief!" There were no rough hands pulling him back. There was nothing to stop him. Until he tripped the door alarm. The shrill sound rent the air as he took off running across the parking lot, his feet slapping the blacktop.   
  
The clerk on duty ran out, waving her hands angrily. "Damn kid, get back here!" He hopped the fence smoothly, darting off into a side alley across the street. The clerk ran inside to phone the police.   
  
Breathing heavily, the boy threw a glance over his shoulder. There was only an empty alley behind him. Leaning against an old brick wall, he caught his breath. He pulled off the sweatshirt, catching the Coke before it had time to fall. Finding a clean spot along the wall, he settled down. Within ten minutes he had eaten half the beef jerky and a candy bar. He managed to save the last half of the Coke, convincing himself he'd need it later. Resting his head against the wall, the boy stared up at the dark blue sky above him. The color reminded him of Heero's eyes, but those steel orbs were far colder than anything up there. He shivered, even though sweat was still trickling down his back from the heat and his race to safety. His eyelids started to droop and his breathing deepened. Within minutes he was asleep, dreaming of cold eyes and hot blood.  
  
//Fire. There was fire everywhere. Wherever he turned it was orange flames and choking smoke. "Hello?" he called, coughing, "Where are you?" Who was he looking for? There was someone inside, he knew it, but who? A slender figure appeared in the doorway, shrouded in smoke. He started to call out, but a beam from overhead fell, crushing the figure beneath its weight. A strangled scream escaped his throat. His heart felt like it would break in two.//  
  
The boy jerked awake, the scream dying on his lips. Sweat trickled down his temples, and he began shaking uncontrollably. A middle-aged woman was standing in front of him, her hand outstretched, a worried look on her face. She was relatively thin and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Her graying hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail.  
  
"You poor dear!" she said, "Are you alright?" She crouched down in front of him, pulling out a handkerchief from her pocket and wiping his forehead.   
  
"I don't know," he said. His throat felt scratchy and his voice was hoarse.  
  
"What's your name, dear?" she asked, helping him up. She smiled at him, her round little glasses glinting in the light from a nearby streetlamp.   
  
"I don't have one," he said after a moment.  
  
"Oh, you're one of those poor war orphans, aren't you?" she said, "Well, we can't have you sleeping out here. You'll catch your death of cold." He felt a grin spreading across his face, wondering how he could catch a cold when it was still at least seventy-five degrees out. She shooed him through a doorway in the alleyway, into a large, cool kitchen. She flipped on the light switch, chattering as she went about gathering things.  
  
"This is the back part of our shop," she said, "My husband's and mine. We sell books. We live in the upper level. This house was originally my grandmother's, and though it's old-fashioned, we like this place. I grew up here, when my father helped Gran run her shop. When my parents died, they left it to me, and I've run it ever since."   
  
The boy nodded along, wondering exactly what she was going to do with him.   
  
"So," she said, turning around and setting a sandwich on the small two-seater table, "What are we going to call you? You've never had a name that you can recall?"  
  
The blonde boy's face flashed through his mind, recalling the conversation. They'd been talking about a person named Duo, but he had no idea if the name was publicly known. He did not want to be found by the cold-eyed Heero.  
  
"I don't think so," he said, "I think my parents died when I was very young." She made a small clucking sound. "Oh, you poor dear," she said.   
  
"Well, we'll have to change that, won't we?" She poured a glass of water and sat down, motioning for him to do the same. He eased into the chair, examining the sandwich.  
  
"What's your name?" he asked, trying to take the focus off him.  
  
"Oh! I haven't introduced myself! I'm Sarah Davis," she said, shaking his hand.   
  
"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Davis."  
  
"Oh, just call me Sarah, please." She waved her hand dismissively.  
  
He took a bite of his sandwich. "Thank you, Sarah," he said through a mouthful of ham, cheese, and bread.  
  
She gestured toward the sandwich. "It's not much, I'm afraid, but it is after midnight," she said.  
  
"How did you find me?" he asked, taking a drink of water.  
  
"You were crying out, thrashing against the wall. I had no idea what was going on," she said.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"You must have been dreaming something terrible. Not that I blame you, with your past. You've probably seen some terrible things."  
  
//I wish I could remember what they were,// he thought, //Wait, that didn't come out right...// He shook his head and sighed.   
  
  
  
"Well," she said, "You probably want to get some sleep. I was just doing some cataloging and I was about to go to bed. I realize that that hair of yours will take some time, but I'd like you to take a shower." He just nodded along with her.  
  
"So finish up your sandwich and I'll show you the guest room and the bathroom," she said, getting up. He devoured the last bit of his sandwich and gulped the rest of his water. He followed her out of the kitchen.  
  
"Now, tomorrow, after you've had some breakfast, we can talk about you maybe staying with us for a while," Sarah said, getting him some towels and a washcloth. He stared at her.   
  
"You mean live here?" he asked, "But you don't even know me!" She just looked at him with a smile.  
  
"Oh, dear, I don't need to know you," she said, "I can tell you're one of the good people in this war."  
  
"Oh," he said, wondering vaguely how she tell, and wondering why she couldn't see the thing that made Heero and Quatre want to kill him.   
  
"There you go, dear," she said, handing him the towels, "Feel free to use any of the products you find in there. I'll be going to bed now, but if you have any problems, don't hesitate to come knock on our door, the last one to the left. The guest room is the second to last room on the right. Um, for tonight you'll have to wear the same things you've been wearing...but tomorrow we'll go shopping, alright?" He nodded.  
  
"Alright, then," she said, "Oh, and you'll find gauze under the sink if you need to wrap your arm and head again. Hm, I'll have my husband look at you tomorrow, just to make sure we don't need to go see a doctor. Goodnight." She headed down the hall.  
  
"Goodnight," he murmured. He stood for a moment in the hall, holding the towels, and wondering how she could afford to be so generous and trusting. What if he were a dangerous criminal? Which was entirely possible, since some people obviously thought he was dangerous. He shook his head as he felt another headache coming on. He sighed and entered the bathroom.  
  
The bathroom was very bright against his tired eyes. The paint was shiny white and reflected the light almost painfully. The counter surface was dark blue marble, with light wood cabinets beneath it and a shiny silver faucet in the sink. A large mirror hung above it. The boy in the mirror looked strange to him, and he reached out to trace the features in the glass. Large violet eyes stared back at him out of a lightly tanned, heart-shaped face. His chestnut bangs were constantly falling into his eyes. His mouth was pale pink, almost a cupid bow pout. He frowned at his reflection, wishing he recognized his own face. He winced as he caught sight of the bandages, as if the scrapes knew he was remembering them.  
  
//I'll think about it in the morning,// he thought, yawning. He rummaged around in a drawer under the sink, finally finding a large brush. He turned the water on, letting it warm up a bit as he brushed out his hair. Wincing as he unwrapped the bandages, he stared once again at the scrapes on his arm, and the matching one on his temple. They seemed to be alright; he could already see the start of a scab. He sighed as he stepped under the warm water, turning the pressure on high and rotating his shoulders under the spray. He felt a pang of guilt as he used the last of their shampoo, hoping they had an extra bottle somewhere. He finished washing up as fast as he could, stifling another yawn.  
  
The walls in the guest room were painted a pale blue, with light gray carpeting. There was a full-size bed along one wall, dark blue covers and matching pillows, with a small bedside table and lamp. A small alarm clock glowed one a.m. at him in bright red numbers. He had rewrapped his scrapes, and rummaged around in the almost empty closet, where he found a large black T-shirt. At least something he was going to be wearing was clean. He had dried his hair as much as possible, but it still left a damp trail down his back. The sheets felt cool against his heated skin as he slid into bed, turning off the light and snuggling down into the pillow. This time he didn't dream.  
  
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TBC  
  
  
  
So, there's part four. And yes, I am working on part five, but again, it'll probly take a while. So just check up in maybe a week or so, and I hope it'll be up. See ya later! 


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